Final Fantasy V: Beyond Heaven and Earth
by T.T. Goldsmith
Summary: Bearers of the rebuilding of their world, four people have embarked on a journey of self-discovery. They will discover, among the many evils present in their world, their own redemption for their past sins.
1. Fire from Heaven, part 1

**1. Fire from Heaven, part 1: The Quiet Plains  
**

Bartz sat in the wastes of the plain, contemplating a leaf of grass. He had been searching for freedom for so long, that watching this piece of plant, rooted in the dirt, suddenly made him envious.

The vast plain of Jenal looked out from where he sat, his arms stretched out leisurely, his fingers digging into the rocky ground. Mountains as tall as the sky circled him, their hillsides dotted with burnt stumps and the howling of the tribes of goblins. Bartz saw the shadows of the goblins flitting between valleys, impossibly fast, carrying their heavy blades that bounced the light of the moon back into the sky during their night raids.

They were moving into the northern valley tonight, Bartz sensed. He dared not travel that direction, knowing that wherever the goblins went, the insanity of magic followed. He had made a habit of avoiding anything magical during the past few years, and he intended to keep it that way.

Bartz's mount, the chocobo Boko, grazed quietly nearby. He could hear the sound of his chocobo's snorts as he happily fed. He was tired after the long ride from Talmon Village. While Talmon was the closest habitable town, Bartz had no desire to return there. The villagers were quite unhappy with him, having nearly hung him in the village square before he narrowly escaped.

He wasn't sure where he was going next. The next town, a one day ride, was the quaint hamlet of Trona. Bartz knew from the tavern at Talmon that Trona was only slightly larger, but boasted women who were once bred as servants of Karnak, and then during the rebellion they escaped and disappeared into the wilderness. Or at least that was the hearsay of Talmon. He half chuckled when he heard that: the servants of Karnak were often known for their beauty, but also for being contemptuous and vile.

Nevertheless, at least for the beauties, that might be a foreseeable stop.

Boko had stopped grazing, and looked up at Bartz with his big black eyes. The hair on his back had a slight lift to it: Bartz sensed the clouds rolling overhead and felt like a storm coming.

He slapped his thigh, and the chocobo trotted to him, nuzzling his face. He smiled.

"You're a good boy, you know that?"

Boko, in response, brought his head up high, ready to move. Bartz stood up, grabbed his gear, and swung onto the saddle. With a kick, they were off.


	2. Fire from Heaven, part 2

**2. Fire from Heaven, part 2: Afterburn**

They found a place to rest in the woods that border that border the plain. They were unnamed for good reason: the villagers and farmers who lived nearby were afraid of the woods, as the goblins often came here for their bloody feasts.

Bartz set the fire and tied Boko to a tree. It took him several tries to get the fire started, but eventually a small flame was lit. He took out some oil and spread it over the wood, causing a huge blossom of flame, and then sat down next to it, pulling out some rabbit meat and roasting it over the fire using a silver splinter from his pack.

It was quiet, except for the blowing ashes and the wind in the trees. The stars were incredibly bright tonight; the moon was behind a cloud, half-shrouded in a dim sheath of gray, the other half like a broken face.

Boko whined, and tried to break out of the rope. Bartz dropped the meat, and tried to quiet him down.

"What's wrong, boy?" he whispered to him, stroking his hair.

As if in response, he snapped his neck again, this time with more violence, and the rope came apart like a piece of thread. He was a strong chocobo, and his impact caused him to prance forward, clambering over Bartz and disappearing into the darkness of the forest.

Bartz lay on the ground, feeling his arm. It felt like it was broken, but he had known enough pain to quell it before it caused him too much of a distraction. Boko was not easily startled: he was a chocobo of war, one bred by a local king who had his share of battles with the darkness. Bartz was suddenly afraid, and the pain came back to him with full force. He fell on his back and watched up at the sky, and suddenly felt the pit of his stomach reach into his throat.

There was a screaming in the air. It was as if the stars in the sky shifted aside to make room for something. The screaming grew louder, and suddenly the fire pit exploded into a bulbous flame, spitting out sparks to an impossible distance. Bartz brushed the smoldering flames off him; he felt the ground heave, dip, and roll about like the wave of an ocean.

As the sound came to its zenith, a dark shape roared across the night sky. It was covered in flames, as if it were the hand of God coming to destroy the world. It was the size of a small town, with pitted sides like it had been forged in a smithy. It screamed through the air, and as it passed by silence followed, like the afterburn of its flight carried some mysterious spell.

There was an ultimate quiet, and then the voices came. The goblins, in their bacchalic and mesmerizing singing, called out into the night veil like wolves in heat. Bartz tried to move, but found the pain too great.

"Boko!" he cried out. He was desperate; if the goblins found him here, they would cut him apart and use his skin as ornamentation. Or their madness would spill into him, and he would become a haunt of the moon, spreading chaos and blood across the Earth until someone ended his suffering by sticking a piece of metal in his gullet.

"Boko!"

Out of the corner of the wood, his chocobo came, bounding towards him, with fire in his eyes. Bartz struggled with getting up, and then threw himself on the back of the chocobo, using his good leg to slip through the leather of his pack.

"Go," he said. The howling was closer.

"Go!" he shouted. Boko danced a few steps, and then trailed out of the moon. He could hear the sound of the goblins rushing into the campground and their delight at the fire licking the night sky.


	3. Fire from Heaven, part 3

**3. Fire from Heaven, part 3: The Horde**

Once out of the wood, they slowed. Bartz had regained some use of his legs, and though it hurt, he moved Boko into the steppes so he could have a better look.

The strange rock that had flown through the sky left a trail of destruction in its wake. The ground was scarred, trees burnt, and several woods were smoldering and hot orange still. The goblins were everywhere, attracted like moths to the chaos. Following the path was not hard at all; the huge town-sized rock had come to rest in a grove of trees to the far northwest, effectively cutting off the route to Trona.

From behind him he heard the sounds of an amassing horde. Further south, he heard the sounds of war cries and saw flames.

Talmon.

For a moment he felt like he should go back there and save the villagers. The goblins were certainly there now, and the villagers must be scared as ever. He imagined Kylene' face, her blond hair spattered with blood, the heavy breathing of a goblin hovering over her, teeth rotted with bones, eyes pitch with scarlet. Her quick breaths, as if she anticipated his cruelty and welcomed it, while at the same time struggling in his grasp and screaming for help, from any lover she had ever had during the course of her short life.

But Bartz's pride held him back; why did they deserve to be saved, when they had nearly killed him; this was the answer to their cruelty. Bartz felt guilty with these thoughts: they had all the right in the world to hold him accountable for his crimes, but no matter. That direction was simply too dangerous now. He only had one route: north. He was curious about the rock, and this gave him an adequate excuse. He limped north, riding slowly. It was as if Boko also knew the dangers, and he moved forward cautiously.


	4. Fire from Heaven, part 4

**4. Fire from Heaven, part 4: Beyond the Treeline**

The rock was bigger than a village; more like the size of a small mountain. It was covered in fallen leaves, and was still smoking by the time Bartz approached the grove where it had fallen. The summit of the rock could be seen over the treeline. It had huge crevasses and dark pits, like a mountainside blasted with magical fire.

Bartz had heard of such things before, but never seen one himself. In one of the Northern provinces, this kind of rock had fallen into a lake and caused a number of villages to be drowned. It happened at the end of the fall season, and the flood had not receded by the period of snow and ice. Those villages were lost to time, as the flooded waters froze over doorways, chimneys, stables, and beds. Villagers had to bring ice picks to the village and break their way into their kitchens and stoves, just to retrieve their cooking supplies so they could last the winter. When the summer season came, the wood had rotted and the villages unlivable.

But this was different: when villagers dived into the lake to examine the rock, they discovered it to be a kind of grayish rock that broke apart when touched; this rock looked like it was hard like obsidian, as if the flames that surrounded it turned the rock into steel. It nearly shone in the moonlight; Bartz saw the reflections of the stars on its surface, even from beyond the treeline.

A rustling in the wood; cracking of branches, and a muffled cry.

Gritting through the pain, Bartz threw himself to the ground, rolling once and dragging Boko into the border of the trees. The goblins language was a compilation of tongues men spoke, smashed into one at once beautiful yet horrible speech. It was filled with song, yet contained the brashest of words spoken by man across all the language of the earth. Bartz had encountered them enough to know this was the language he heard. However, he also heard struggling and pain.

He withdrew his blade, gripped the hilt and waited. The shadows of the goblins passed by him, and he saw they carried a young girl dressed in bright silks. He gritted his teeth. A simple village girl they were taking to continue their dark experiments.

He saw the goblins closer now; their eyes contained the same madness as he remembered, shining with the kind of pure magic that they practiced on themselves that had made them outlawed in every province in the country. They wore scraps of clothing they found, stitched together by hands that had been turned into claws or talons or worse; their muscles bulged as they walked, but they walked with a clumsy gait, as if they had not learned how to walk yet, still babes.

The girl had beautiful blond hair; just like Kylene, Bartz recalled. But this girl's nose was more elegant, and her eyes were fierce, shining with a luster of blue that caught Bartz off-guard; her clothes, in addition, decried her being any kind of villager, with spiral floral designs crafted onto the long sleeves, and beads of small stones threaded onto the rims of the dress. This was no ordinary girl.

Bartz jumped forward with his sword, and plunged it into one of the goblins. She screamed out, gripping Bartz's sword with both hands, pushing it further inside her until Bartz panicked and dropped to the ground. The goblin had caught him off-guard, but as she slunk to the ground, he leapt forward and slid the sword out of her shaken body, ready for the next assault.

"Please, be careful!" the young girl cried out.

The goblin holding her snarled and swung back an ornamented blade. It was obvious to Bartz they must have ambushed the girl, killed her guards, and then stolen the weapons. That sword was the kind of blade given to the king's guard. The goblin, however, had no idea how to properly wield the blade, and lunged forward without any kind of grace.

Bartz parried the swing and slapped the goblin's sword arm away, causing him to momentarily lose his balance. Taking advantage of the opening, Bartz winced through his pain and used his boot to kick the goblin back, and then swing his sword downward toward the neckline. The goblin dropped the sword in a gasp of fear.

Before his sword connected, he was grabbed from behind. Sticky hands coated with dry blood gripped him, and rather than going for the neck, he switched positions, shifted to the left, and shoved the blade under his right arm. The figure holding him in the back wilted away, and dropped to the ground with a thud.

The girl had managed to get out of her captor's hands, picked up the sword, and plunged into the stunned goblin who now lay twitching on the ground. The girl was heaving with deep breaths, staring at her hands.

Bartz gathered his wits, walked forward, and took the sword from the girl, gathering her in his arms.

"It's ok, you are safe," he said to her. She trembled in his arms.

"I've never killed a man," she said after a moment.

"They are not men."

"What are they?" She stopped shaking, and moved out of Bartz's arms, as if startled by even his embrace.

"They are men who lost their minds to magic," he said.

"Magic…" she was very quiet, and then collapsed. Bartz moved forward and caught her before she fell to the ground.

"You need to rest," he said.

"No, it's ok,' the girl said. "I can go on. Just give me a moment."

"Where are you going?" Bartz released the girl, and she sat down on the ground. "It's not safe here, we need to move to safer ground."

She looked up at him, and then said, "I am going to the Wind Shrine."

Bartz knew little of the Shrines, but what he did know was shrouded in mystery. They were guarded by the King's Cult, a group of religious men trained by the courts in Karnak, who then took positions in various temples around the country. He did know that the Wind Shrine was not located here, but quite far away, in a country far to the north, across the waters of the Median Sea.

"That is still quite far, lady," Bartz said. "By walking, at least a two weeks; by chocobo, I suppose you could travel there in three days."

"So you can see my urgency," she snapped.

Bartz was taken a bit aback. She seemed to have little care for his saving of her life. She was probably nobility, some little snot who grew up around extravagantly dressed servants, roasted pig, and handsome soldiers. She apparently knew how to use a sword, but Bartz knew she had never seen the blood of a man before tonight.

"Your lady is free to go where she pleases," Bartz said, bowing away.

The girl sighed. "I am sorry, you did save my life. Please accept my thanks." She curtseyed to Bartz, which was quite humorous given the tears and rips in her dress.

"No matter," he said, waving his hand in dismissal. "Perhaps you would like to join me, as I am headed north."

"Yes, that would be lovely," the girl said. She looked at Bartz suddenly, fatigue covering her face. "Forgive my temper. My name is Lenna. May I ride with you?"

Bartz smiled for the first time tonight. "For such a beautiful lady as yourself, I would take you wherever you please. But first, we must take a look at the reason we are both here; if you would please follow me, we will see if there is a way out of these blasted woods."


	5. Fire from Heaven, part 5

**5. Fire from Heaven, part 5: The Exile**

It was impressive, Bartz noted, like a mountain just decided to fall from heaven, and burn up half the villages in the plains in its anger. The ground was covered in burn, the tree trunks surrounded with scorched streaks, and many of the rocks nearby had simply been crushed into dust. The earth was still hot.

"Stay here," Bartz told Lenna. She did not respond, but it was clear from her expression she was surprised as well.

Bartz made his way through the rubble, and touched the rock. It stung him, hot to the touch. The rock was still throwing smoke into the air, as if it was made of ash and brimstone. Almost like the rock came from hell itself.

Bartz clambered up on the rock. It was soft under his feet, like molten steel before fully cooled into a blade. He made his way higher up the surface of the rock, and stopped cold. He heard a sound. A groan.

It was clearly a groan. He rushed over to the sound and found a man on the ground, his clothes burnt and blackened. He had soft red hair, with a full beard that had seemingly been untouched by the flames.

Bartz shook him, and the man opened his eyes.

"Where…" he struggled, breathing in for what seemed to be the first time.

"How is it that you are alive, man!" Bartz said. "Come here, it's not safe here."

Bartz lifted the man onto his shoulders and brought him out into the clearing. Lenna gave a short gasp, and jumped off the chocobo, helping Bartz lower the old man to the ground.

"Careful," Lenna said, smoothing his clothes with her slim and gentle hands.

"Where… am I?" the old man asked.

"You are in the Junel Plain, near the border of Luca," Lenna replied.

"You were also on the top of this smoking rock," Bartz said dismissively. "Can you explain that?"

The old man was puzzled at Bartz's remark. "My name… is Galuf." He scratched his head. "But I don't remember much else. Where is Luca?"

Lenna looked with care at the old man, and she helped him sit up. "You just need some time to rest; you'll remember soon."

Bartz paced around the site. The rock totally blocked the passage through to the other side of the mountain. There was a short cave that led through part of the mountain, but the falling rock must have destroyed the passage.

"This way is closed off. The only way through is through the pass, but the pass has been destroyed, and this time of the year it's much too dangerous to try the scale the mountain, especially with our condition."

"What do you suggest?" Lenna asked.

"There is another way around, but we must go through goblin lands and to the north. I believe I saw a port there when in passing, where we can catch a ship."

Lenna sighed. "We must hurry. Are we in any danger?"

"Just do what I say, and we won't have any trouble with them. You too, old man. We'll get you to a safe haven, but then you two have to go your own ways."


	6. Tough Love

6. Tough Love

Early this afternoon, met we _The Gold Trader. _They set off from Tule, carrying a hundred tons of leather bound for Walz, but we happily took them of their trade. They did so ever politely, and we only had to throw five of their soldiers overboard until they submitted to our blades. Pity for those men's souls, but the better for us. I'd rather not return to Tule, in case those soldiers will have returned. We headed back to our cave and will for the winds to calm, figuratively speaking.

The wind has been very poor as of late, and I'm worried poor Syldra has too much to do. She, like our sailors, is tired from recent events. We all are. I feel bad for the boys not having the most recent take, as the ships sailing have been infrequent these last few days. Tycoon's usual freight bound for the shrine and Carwen have also been delayed it seems. I miss seeing Captains Nex and Tessain and their smarmy comments. They must be resting back at home, wondering why the world is coming to an end. They always were determined to be a bit off on themselves.

I do miss the winds of Jacole, those southerly gales that swept us from one side of the world to the other. Seeing the mountains in the far mist with the waves under your feet, swifter than the wind, riding the back of a dragon. It seems the romance, with time, is fading. Too soon. We are all too young it appears.

Later in the afternoon the boys were taking naps, and like them, famished of sleepeye, I dozed off a bit. When I awoke, the boys were all a flutter, as someone had raised the bridge. Grabbing our weapons, we rushed to the ship, to find three thieves standing at the wheel of the ship, trying in vain to hoist the sails and take off.

My boys raised their sabers and were ready to kill. I could see the blood in their eyes. Justino, in particular, was shaking with eagerness, probably far too excited after his recent outing to the Tule lounge and having promised some wench his next payment in gold. He has a tender heart but a ruthless demeanor, and let no man say that he hasn't been warned by the blades of Justino. I do admire him.

However, no blood should be spilled. The leading man, a handsome buck with a great sword strapped to his back and dressed in a worn traveler's cloak startled me, and I knew he would take down my men without a thought. If this man knew where my hideout was, I needed him alive and to tell me how he found out. If he was a spy of Tycoon, my men were no longer safe.

"Take them into the brig!" I shouted, and the men, though only one knew of my sex, turned back as if in mutiny. "These three aren't worth the spoils of your strength," I shouted to my men, and then raised my own saber in reply. "If they don't prove useful," I said in a gentler voice, "you men may make of the woman as you will."

I was not that cold-hearted, but the men needed to know I could be. It was a game we played - in order for us to mutually hold each other accountable, the challenge was issued, and a reply was given. We hunted the seas because we thrilled a fight, thirsted for wealth, and no one or place would grant us safe harbor. We were a different brand of people, more suited to catcalls and wild nights under the moon, and then off to a long night at sea until the salt boiled in our blood and we broke free from the reverie in a blood-stained battle.

Besides, the woman looked to be more useful than the other two: she held herself with a dignity I had thought I had forgotten. The pendant she wore around her neck was the same as mine, and that could only mean that she had stolen my father's heart, or something far more insidious.

The leading man, on the other hand, proved to be quite a bore and unchivalrous when thrown into the pit, remarking with several uncouth statements about the virility of my boys, who none took to quite well. The old man turned out to be a hard lot to handle, and three of my boys had to knock him unconscious before he stopped struggling.

-Faris


	7. A Thorn Among Roses

7. A Thorn Among Roses

They haven't spoken to me since we left the ship. Bartz cursed me, which seemed very out of order for him, as he seemed very much the gallant type after my foolish falling into the tribesmen outside the castle wood. And the old man who styles himself Galuf, he has been staring at me with the fiercest and yet softest eyes I've ever seen. He unnerves me.

The pirates docked at the port of Tule, and then walked us across the grasslands to the Lake-City of Tule. Being here now, I can understand why my father disallowed me from ever visiting. The Academy of Tule, while well-known throughout the kingdoms, is a beauty among the dens of wickedness that has spawned here. No wonder the pirates love this city so much. But the city seems to be wealthy beyond recognition, and little wonder to that as the builder of the canal lives here and because of their great gift to mankind, was given the task of controlling and taxing the canal by the kings and queens of our fair land.

While my father agreed to the decision to allow Tule as the gatekeeper of commerce for this area, they have not gone softly about it; a constant thorn in my father's backside, and when times are tough, they restrict even more. What's more, as of recent events Tule has become like a simpering child; the absence of wind has caused the canal to fill with the most unimaginable horrors (I've only heard in rumor, of course), as the Canal soldiers have returned to Tule and are not guarding the canal anymore.

Therefore, few trade ships brave the canal, and only those with sufficient manpower make it through alive. I've always believed that Zok, while playing the part of friend to my father, was always ruthless and yet had no backbone, a dangerous combination for someone so important. Perhaps father should have just kept him at Tycoon at his posh estate rather than sending him off to Tule where his corruption blossomed into a hopeless maelstrom.

We have decided (or rather forced) to spend the night at a seedy inn in Tule. The captain of the pirates has taken a room to himself, and sequestered the rest of us (along with his lecherous underlings) in the dining area of the tavern. The dancers are quite lewd, wearing almost no clothes and having no bearing on their sex, but the men seem to enjoy it. Even more, the old man who we found near the scorched rock also seems to be enjoying himself, almost too drunk to stand now but singing at the top of his lungs. Bartz, on the other hand, is sitting quietly near the stage, watching the dancers, hung over with what appears to be his second drink. He must really have low constitution.

I'm such a fool, to go off running to find father when I know he went so far away. I feel pity for the guards I convinced to come. I saw their bodies taken away by the tribesmen; no doubt their families will feel the pain of their loss. While fate seemed to spare me, it does not seem so now. Perhaps this is my punishment for taking the lives of those men and breaking apart their families.

I was surprised at the decision of the captain to spare us. I've heard stories from the court at Tycoon of pirates who brave the Median Sea, who have terrorized Tycoon's trade for the last five years or so. While I am overjoyed to have discovered the location to their hideout, they will most likely just find a new one. Father will be pleased to know the identity of Faris Unworthy, as he is called by the soldiers, or in popular account, Faris the Bloodhound. He is known as a bloodthirsty villain who enjoys gutting the king's man after gloating victory over them, and then looting every piece of gold and silver from the ship, finally setting fire to the ship and letting it drift to the end of the world.

Seeing the legend up close, though, he looks so soft and weak. Almost too perfect for a pirate. His men adore him, and were I a pirate I believe I would give my life for my captain as well. It's lucky I was born royalty, then, and to the greatest king this land has yet seen.

I find myself out of place here: the last few days, I have been captured a prisoner by all those around me, from the gob tribesmen, to unscrupulous bounty hunters, to a den of the most wicked pirates in the Median Sea. I hope we will arrive at the shrine soon, and I can finally leave these cutthroats and be taken into the arms of the Cult, who while equally as questionable, at least have the decency of loyalty to the king. I will be glad to be away from this band of pond scum.

-Lenna


	8. Visions of a Broken Verse

8. Visions of a Broken Verse

There are snatches of images I remember from before, but only that.

A village is caught up in flame. The people call my name, but I do not hear them. I turn my back on them, and face the incoming wind. It is a wind that smells of corpses and lamentation. The laments fill me as if I were a sac that were beckoning them to enter me and take me away. There is a small child crying on the steppes outside the village, and a shadow overcomes her. She has a face I think I recognize, and then the flash ends.

In another image, I am standing on the peak. I am naked and crying for the world beneath me. An endless forest stretches below, a forest that covers the entire earth. The trees are writhing, moving, singing hideously; a wail of death. But I know something: this is all of my fault. I am the bringer of death on the world, or this strange place I find myself in distant flashes of memory.

When we were on the ship, I had dreams. They troubled me and I woke, and I found myself on the deck of the ship, listening to the waves. They were soothing to me. The seas were calm. I heard the thrumming from beneath the ship, as the huge engine moved us through the waves as if in a magical tale. Every few moments, she came from beneath the water with those big eyes and turned her head, but she did not see me. The giant sea serpent drags us to an unknown destiny; I only have my nightmares.

The pirate, as beautiful as he is, is a fierce fiend. He reminds me of myself when I was a young boy, determined to take on the world. And yet today, I have no idea who that is; only the name I bear, which to me means nothing. I find myself, far too often, filling the void of my sadness with more primordial lusts, though it seems to cause pain to those around me. I pay them no mind - perhaps it is in my personality, to approach things without considering the consequences, and find the beauty and joy in it immediately. The lady Lenna is a gorgeous woman, but she does not appreciate my sense of aesthetics. She shall soon; else I shall grow bored of her and find another way to find peace from this mad world.

As we approached the tower, I grew apprehensive. A huge swath of woods surrounding it, surrounded by fierce men with twisted faces and sharp scimitars, and unspeakable horrors that hide in the shadows of the trees and jump on your face like a leech. The most dangerous beast to attack us as we approached the tower was a small creature who lives in the hollows of the trees and rather than eating nuts or berries (as most forest creatures should), they eat the flesh of their victims and keep it simmering in a sack beneath their vicious teeth, where it turns viscous, which they either swallow or spit back at their victims like a poison.

We have grown accustomed to the savagery of this world, though. It seems that as the earth slowly fails, the evils that are present grow ever stronger.

As I said, the tower. Immaculately designed, beautiful in construction, the lady Lenna has told us that it is the home of the King's Cult, a group of sorcerers who guard and protect the Crystal of the Wind, an artifact that she says regulates the flow of the wind. A preposterous idea, but she claims it is so. If I have deigned to ride a boat tugged by a tamed sea serpent, then I might as well believe that a rock can control the wind. The naivety of these people astounds me.

Inside the tower, however, we found that beautiful Lenna's dreams of meeting with the Cult were naught to be found. It appears that the Cult has disappeared, and the tower left in darkness. The remainder of the king's men we found in an ante-chamber near the bottom level of the tower, cowering in fear and guarding a pot of holy water they claimed could drive the madness away.

I am relating this now, after having fled from the heights of the tower in fear. For in the levels above us, not only do the dead walk, but the Cult has been driven mad, just as the forest outside was. They have taken to killing each other, bringing themselves back to life, and drawing energy out, murdering anyone who approaches them. My answers are to be found here, but I only sense the dread and decay of life.

I find myself sipping the holy water, letting it drip down inside me, and push the madness away. Where this madness comes from, why the sorcerers were driven to insanity and this necromancy, we will soon find out. The pirate captain has decided to join us on this rendezvous, most likely to find the treasure that has been abandoned at the top of the tower, and he pushes us forward to our demise.

Bartz, our ranger and hunter, seems to be going along with the pirate only out of charity to watch over the lady Lenna. He has had numerous chances to leave, but seems unwilling, even though nothing is holding him here.

-Galuf


	9. Depths of Terror

9. Depths of Terror

"Hold your positions!" The ship surges in the water, rolling across the waves like a bird in a storm, yet the air is calm, the sky clear of clouds. The mountains rise on all sides of the wide canal, their steep cliffs unnaturally cut into, and we are engulfed in the shadow of those giants while terrors from beyond assail us. The sea spills onto the deck, splashing across the planks and engulfing my ankles of cold. Inhuman screams fill the space between myself and my companions; the weapon in my hand shakes and threatens to slip from my grip. My heart is racing and I haven't a clue what to do.

The creatures are not attacking me. When I move toward their monstrous shadows, they pull back and move towards the princess and the captain, who are pinned in the hold. The old man and myself try to move towards them, but the creatures from the deep continue to rise out of the water and move toward them.

Suddenly an idea occurs to me.

"Galuf!" My voice is barely audible under the roaring of the waves, the splintering of the ship as pieces of it are slowly broken off by tentacles and teeth, but the old man turns back to look at me, his face in grim desperation of a man who has nothing to live for and yet continues to fight.

"Take these!" I take the two daggers I had found on the bodies of the black goblins that attacked us in the tower. What the black goblins were doing so far from the mountains of the south was unknown to me, but their daggers were exquisitely designed, with long curved blades they use to gut their victims and return to the shadows where they live. I toss the daggers to the old warrior.

"Follow my lead!" I sheath my sword, an elegant long blade I recently purchased from Tule, and draw two more of the daggers I looted from the goblins. I planned to sell them, but I'm glad I didn't. Gripping the two weapons in each hand, I rush forward and leap onto the sea creatures stink-slime rubbery back. I raise my arms just as I am jumping and thrust the two blades into the spine of the creature. It roars in pain, tries to shake me off, but the daggers are too far in. Quickly I twist my wrist and remove one of the blades, and following in momentum, strike higher, release the lower blade and raise myself higher. The creature lets out a deep bellow of anger, but I see the girls on the other side. They are struggling with the whipping flesh, the princess behind the captain, and the captain bravely holding them off, though covered in bruises and cuts.

I am barely over when I see the old man vault over the creature, expertly tumbling to the ground, throwing the daggers onto the deck, and drawing his impressive long knife. He snarls and joins the captain in fighting off the creatures. He amazes me.

* * *

So we are sitting in the center of the ship, covered in black and red blood. At this point in our lives, we aren't even sure which blood is whose, ours or the creatures. We are still in shock.

The ship continues down the canal, but we are careful not to make a sound, were the creatures to surface again and seek food. This was why the canal was closed. When Zok gave me the key (and I question his motives, for he seemed quite aroused when he spoke of protecting the princess from the dangers present in canal), I thought little of it. But now, I hope they keep it closed. From where these creatures have come, not even the mystery of the now-broken crystal can answer.

In my mind, memories swirl. I see a hundred faces, remember a hundred lives, and yet none of it makes any sense. When I touched the broken crystal we found at the top of the tower, I was flooded with a thousand images, and I am only now beginning to make sense of it. I don't know if I am more powerful now than I was before, but I am different; we all are.

There was no way the captain could have stayed with his crew after the crystal. We have been changed irrevocably, and there is no going back. Fate has given us a twisted bargain, and oh, how I wish I could give it all back.

I worry for the princess and her disposition. The rest of us have been hardened by life - we have all taken our pound of flesh from the world; even the old man I can see in brief moments, for while he claims he doesn't remember, he seems to have more wisdom in this that any of us. But the princess, she is suffering worse than the others, and having just seen her father's ghost, I question whether she will make the night of this dark journey.

-Bartz


End file.
